In Your Likeness
by soulofair
Summary: In the wake of her father's death, Jack's dissatisfied daughter takes matters into her own hands in order to change her life. I do not own 30 Rock or any of the characters.
1. Chapter 1

Lydie Donaghy cried nearly every night when she went to bed.

Considering the alternatives, crying was the most constructive, least destructive, and easiest to move on from.

It was almost like a drug she had become dependent on, this whole crying deal. It helped her cope with her parents' loveless marriage, the girls at school who teased her about her hair, her glasses, her weird back-thing (she needed to wear a brace at night, and for this reason, she never went to slumber parties), and the fact that her seemingly perfect life was anything but. Lydie had tried making voodoo dolls to resolve her frustration with the matter, but she quickly abandoned that idea when she realized her Trinidadian nanny was not versed in the mystic culture of voodoo.

She often found herself wishing that she was someone else; someone who had the blonde (not frizzy) hair like her mother's, the mother who appeared to be Barbie or something. She wished that she was less noticeable, someone who could blend into the background and go about living her life as if she weren't the daughter of the CEO of KableTown or Avery Jessup, the head anchor for Nightly News with Avery Jessup. She didn't like the private school her parents had insisted she attend, and she did not enjoy the pressures that being a Donaghy-Jessup forced her to endure. She wanted to be normal.

At age ten, Lydie determined that she was no longer interested in being a Donaghy-Jessup. She was determined to find a different family, people who would accept her as the oddball that she was; frizzy blonde hair, brace, glasses, and all. She wasn't going to continue the life she led, trying to be better than herself. She was just herself, and despite all that her father tried to tell her, all those stupid affirmations that he forced upon her, she was not going to be better than herself. That was just stupid.

She resorted to the attic, a place that she frequented to get away from the angry yelling match that her parents would break out in on a weekly, if not daily, basis. The attic was a bright, warm, cheerful place that always had some sort of treasure to uncover. Lydie felt like this attic was an archaeological site, where her parents' pasts could be pulled apart and put back together again with each item she uncovered and categorized to her fancy. She didn't care if the stories she came up with were accurate; just as long as she didn't have to face reality.

One particular afternoon, Lydie retreated to the attic, unafraid that her parents might find her, as they had succumbed to yet another screaming match regarding some benign matter that had no necessity to turn into a nuclear-war of the words. Trying to hold back her tears, she threw herself down in a corner across the room from the door. She was trying to hide from reality, and this seemed to be the best place to do just that.

As she clamored over boxes, her foot caught on one of the flaps of a box, dragging the lid up. She didn't notice this until after she had curled up in a corner with her knees brought up to her chest. Noticing the box that she had opened, she leaned forward and gingerly brought the four flaps down and peered into the box. This box looked to be only full of paperwork, but being the oddity that she was, she decided to go through it.

She was surprised to find photographs, letters, small items of some sort of sentimental value, and cards in the box. Lydie recognized that this wasn't just a box of paperwork; this was a memory box. Of course, her interest peaked, and she began to drag out small stacks of the contents of the box. She laid them out on the floor in front of her, and examined the photos like a hawk, mentally photographing each item as she explored her find.

Initially, Lydie wasn't certain about to whom the box belonged: to her father, or to her mother. She had thought that the box belonged to her mother, given that most of the small mementos in the box seemed rather feminine and would be things that a woman would find relevance in. However, as she began to come upon the photographs and birthday cards, she realized that this was her father's box.

Most of the photos were of a woman with brown hair and glasses. She looked normal, but didn't look as though she really belonged in the world of her father. She looked too happy to be one of the women who would associate themselves with the world of Jack Donaghy or Avery Jessup. Lydie imagined that the woman the photo was someone from her father's past, probably from college or something, and that he had kept the photos as a token of his days at university.

She soon figured that the name of the woman in the photo was Liz. Or Lemon. Maybe her name was Liz Lemon. Lydie wasn't sure.


	2. Chapter 2

As Lydie grew older, Avery became even more difficult to deal with. Lydie desperately tried to find an escape from her mother. Her father was absolutely hopeless when it came to helping Lydie with her mother, so Lydie became determined to escape from her father as well. She would regularly come to the attic, always returning to the box full of the photos of the woman that obviously had some relevance to her father. As time went on, Lydie began to fantasize about the woman in the photo, what her life might be like if the woman in the photo was her mother, instead of the devil in Louboutins and blonde hair that now required regular bleaching to keep the gray away, who claimed to be "motherly" and "kindly".

On the eve of Lydie's sixteenth birthday, Jack ended up in the ICU from a heart attack. He had collapsed at a board meeting and was rushed to a local hospital. Jack didn't survive.

Lydie never thought it was possible for Avery to become even more distant as a mother, but somehow, Avery managed. It was remarkable how cold Avery became in the days after Jack died. Maybe Avery had always been that way, and Jack had just softened the effects of Avery. Maybe this was just something that had developed. Either way, Lydie found herself needing that woman in the photo to be her mother even more after the passing of her father.

The service for Jack was held on an unusually warm March morning, about three weeks after his death. Avery was furious that she had to cancel her trip to the Middle East to cover the story regarding the overthrow of the Iranian government to attend the service. Lydie was furious for the fact that her mother was attending the service.

When Lydie and Avery arrived at the large hall that they had rented out for the memorial, the sheer volume of people who had turned out to pay their last respects to her father astounded Lydie. She walked through the mass of people, dodging the sad stares from people she'd never met before, until she reached her seat at the front of the hall, near the podium where she would be speaking in a few short minutes.

As she sat down, she heard soft sobbing behind her. It wasn't like there weren't a hundred other people crying at this thing, but Lydie suspected it was only for show. She'd seen her mother crying in the same manner for the last few weeks. But this crying she heard behind her was different. It sounded like it was coming from someone who had truly lost someone important.

She turned around and almost choked on her shock. It was the woman from the photos; the one that Lydie had wished was her mother, even though she'd never met this woman before. "Hello," Lydie said softly to the woman. "I guess you knew my dad pretty well?"

The woman glanced up at Lydie and sniffed before trying to pull a brave face. "Yes… I worked for him for a few years. He cancelled my show… ever heard of TGS with Tracy Jordan?"

Lydie filed through the many different references she'd heard from her father as she grew up. Never had she heard of the TGS with Tracy Jordan show. "No, I'm sorry… I haven't. Must have been something that was before my time."

"You were only two years old when the show was cancelled."

Lydie walked back a few pews sat down next to the woman. "Why was the show cancelled?" she asked kindly.

The woman smiled nostalgically. "Tracy cussed out the President on national television during our live show. I should probably mention that the President was taking a tour of the studio during our taping and was able to receive Tracy's warm wishes in person," the woman laughed as she remembered the night that her entire life was changed.

"He cussed out the President?" Lydie asked in amazement. "Dad never told me that story."

"It caused the company such a disgrace. Of course he never told you the story. Jack Donaghy wasn't the sort of man who would point out his flaws unless someone else did first."

The woman crossed her legs and pushed some of her ashy-brown curls behind her shoulder. "I'm Elizabeth Lemon-Snipes, by the way."

Lydie shook Elizabeth's hand. "Are you Liz Lemon?" Lydie asked.

Liz nodded. Lydie smiled as she let her shoulders drop a little bit. "Dad had all of these photos of you… all of these cards and little mementos in a box in our attic. I don't even know why, but… yeah. I found the box about six years ago, and tried to figure out what you would be like."

"Your father had photos of me?" Liz asked, bemused.

"Yup. A huge box of things… lovely photos and little trinkets that he must have thought were important."

Once the memorial started, the sheer volume of people who had come out to honor her father and his untimely death sickened Lydie. People she'd never met before, including the infamous Tracy Jordan, who ultimately gave a very touching speech about knowing "Jackie D" and all the fun times they'd had over the years. Lydie thought it was very strange that anyone had ever called her father "Jackie D," but then again, she was used to calling him Dad… but that was a generous title that he probably didn't deserve, given the life that he had put Lydie through.

As people stood to speak about her father, Lydie was saddened by how her father never seemed to be the man that all of these people knew him to be. He was a great man who knew how to lead a company. Sure, that was something that he was brilliant at—the only thing he appeared to be good at. But that's when the lies started. They said that he was a family man who loved his wife and daughter. Lydie knew that he loved the idea of his wife and daughter, yet doubted that he actually loved Avery or truly and deeply cared about Lydie.

The last speaker went up to speak. The man was some executive who Lydie couldn't care less about. She was concerned about getting out of the stuffy church that kept constricting her. She had never been a devout Catholic, and there certainly was no chance she'd be one now. The sooner she was out of the church and away from all of these people who thought they knew Jack Donaghy or had cutesy nicknames like Jackie D, the better.

Liz Lemon must have sensed this.

The final speaker ended his speech, and the room erupted in tearful applause, something that seemed grossly inappropriate to Lydie. Avery stood to inform everyone that the reception was to be held at a banquet hall across the street. Lydie made a motion to jump up from her seat and run out of the church, hiding from all of these guests by running away with them. Liz placed her hand on Lydie's thigh, keeping her still. When Lydie glanced over at Liz, she saw the warm brown eyes and the sad smile. "Don't go racing to hide… they'll always find you," Liz murmured.

Liz retracted her hand and placed it in her own lap before staring straight ahead of her, up at Jack's coffin. Lydie glanced around the church, watching the people walk out of the large hall, all giving Avery their condolences. Lydie was sickened by the expression and the act that her mother was putting on. There was nothing for Avery Jessup to be sad about; her extremely wealthy husband had just passed on, leaving his entire estate to his wife and daughter. Their loveless, tumultuous marriage was finally over, and Avery had the benefit of everyone feeling sorry for her, instead of painting her as the bad guy.

Finally, the church was empty. Avery had left, thinking her daughter was in the mass of people, but Lydie doubted that Avery would notice that Lydie was missing.

"Your father and I were married," Liz announced from the silence.

Lydie glanced over at Liz, who had taken her glasses off, and was wiping away a few errant tears with a tissue she'd taken from her purse. "There were three Mrs. Donaghys?" Lydie asked with a bemused tone.

"We were accidentally married at your parents' wedding. There was a clerical error, and apparently, neither of us spoke enough French to realize we were getting married. I ended up undersigning an art school in the city. It's done quite well…"

"What do you mean?"

"Your father was threatening to cancel the show, and I was supposed to sign divorce papers. In our battle of the wits, I refused to sign the papers until he agreed to not cancel the show. It became an even bigger battle, so I went on the news and announced that we were donating several million dollars to an art school in the city. He wasn't particularly thrilled…" Liz murmured as she examined her hands.

"Was it always like that between you two?" Lydie asked.

"No… sometimes we fought," Liz laughed.

"Did you two speak after the show was cancelled?"

Liz shook her head. "Your mother decided it was time that your father made some new friends. She forbade him from speaking to me."

"Seriously? But it seemed like you two were best friends!"

Liz's brown eyes flicked over to Lydie. "I was a threat. According to your mother, at least. I'm not sure how I could have ever been considered a threat, compared to your mother."

"My mother isn't something to rave about," Lydie replied dryly, a scowl crawling across her face.

"Your father seemed to think otherwise."

"Well, my father doesn't get a say anymore. He's dead."

With the reality of things so bluntly put, Liz said nothing more. She stuffed her tissue into her purse and stood up. She straightened her simple black dress and slipped her arms into the sleeves of her grey trench coat. She slung her purse over her shoulder and glanced down at the young girl who was still sitting on the pew. "Lydie, your father would have wanted you to be happy. So, be happy. Walk out of here being something you could have never dreamt of being… someone that defies everything your mother makes you be, everything that your father never approved of, something that defines you as something that only you could be defined as. It's not going to do you a bit of good if you watch your life pass you by. Don't go throwing yourself into only your career, and don't go throwing yourself into meaningless love affairs. Find an equal balance, and when you know that you have found THE one, or THE thing that makes you blissfully exuberant, do not spend time and energy trying to find faults."

Liz sat down again, letting everything flop to her sides. Lydie wiped away a tear from her face, the first tear that she had shed since her father passed away. "Why the hell aren't you my mother?" Lydie asked as she let out a sob/laugh.

"Jack Donaghy liked a very specific sort of woman. I was not that very specific sort of woman," Liz replied very matter-of-factly.

"Did you ever want to be that very specific sort of woman?"

"Once."

"When was that?"

"When we were married."

"What do you mean?"

Liz was poised to answer when her phone started to buzz. She pulled it out of her purse and glanced down at the screen. "Lydie, I'm sorry… my daughter just texted me… she needs me to pick her up from her ballet lesson. I'm sorry about your father, but I know that he is very proud of you and will always be with you."

"Ugh… that's such a terrible speech," Lydie groaned with bitchy undertones she hadn't intended be there, but had taken up residence in Lydie's manner of speech.

Liz looked taken aback as she stood up. "Well, you are Avery's daughter," she sighed as she turned to walk out of the church.

Lydie was alone. She always suspected she'd end up like this.


	3. Chapter 3

A few days later, Lydie was walking through the halls of her school and noticed one of her classmates, Charlotte Snipes, in the hall. Charlotte was a girl who was not only gorgeous, smart, and a talented dancer, but was extremely socially awkward and hardly had any friends. She had just asked one of the football players to the Sadie Hawkins' dance and had been turned down, in front of everyone in the hallway. If Charlotte hadn't been so bold, and so foolish, Lydie doubted that she would have ever noticed Charlotte.

Charlotte had gathered her poster (the one that she had spent two hours making the night before) and her backpack (the blue one that had ballet and dance patches sewn to the outside) and walked out of the hallway, looking absolutely miserable. When she and Lydie crossed paths, they were walking in opposite directions through a door. Charlotte, even though she looked like she was about to let the floodgates loose, still mustered up manners and held the door open for Lydie.

And then Lydie saw it. Those big brown eyes, so dark that they were almost like shark's eyes, flashed up at Lydie before quickly diverting to something else. The curly brown hair that trailed down her back, flouncing with each step that Charlotte took, sent Lydie flying back to a photograph she'd held in her hands when she was ten and was running away from her parents' problems and the church, in which she sat next to a woman who actually gave a damn about her father.

"Liz Lemon!" Lydie called out dumbly.

Charlotte stopped and turned to look at her classmate. "Pardon?" she asked softly as she examined the face of the girl who had just called her mother's name out at random.

"Liz Lemon… you're related to Liz Lemon," Lydie told Charlotte as she stepped closer.

Charlotte, clutching the poster, took a step back. "I've never had a good encounter with anyone who knows my mother or is blonde or is popular or is… that close to me…" Charlotte stammered as she backed into a trashcan. "You need to step back."

Lydie did so, and as she backed away, she saw Charlotte's face relax slightly. "I'm sorry. I tend to do that sometimes. Liz Lemon is your mother?" Lydie asked as she smiled at Charlotte, who still looked scared.

"Yup. I was blessed with her hair and eyes," Charlotte laughed. "Not the sense of humor though, which is a shame, because I think being humorous would have really helped me with my charisma skills."

Lydie snorted. "You must have gotten some of that humor," she remarked. "But you look exactly like her."

"She thinks I look like my dad. He's British and has good teeth," Charlotte explained, soon feeling like an idiot for making that comment.

Lydie could see that Charlotte had also gotten some of her mother's social awkwardness. "He's a jerk, by the way."

"Cory?" Charlotte asked.

Lydie nodded. "I heard he has herpes from one of the cheerleaders."

Charlotte snorted. "I heard that one too."

"So why are you going after him?"

"My therapist suggested that I should do something spontaneous. Asking him to the dance seemed spontaneous."

Lydie examined Charlotte, inspecting her features in great detail. How could someone so pretty and talented be so disliked? It wasn't like Charlotte was a bad person; she was just awkward. Charlotte always did the right thing and obviously knew how to achieve great things. But most importantly, how on earth had Lydie gone so long without realizing that it was Charlotte that could connect her to the one thing that she had been looking for all her life?

"Can I ask you a really awkward question?"

"My definition of awkward is probably really different than your definition."

"Okay."

"You can ask it."

"Right. So… your mom is Liz Lemon, right?"

"Yeah. Why?"

"I've had this weird fantasy that it was your mom who was my mother instead of the one I got."

"Wow… I think you've met my awkward threshold."

Lydie laughed nervously. "She was at my dad's funeral. I didn't get to talk to her for long, but she seemed strangely familiar."

"She has that effect on people."

"So do you."

"I get that a lot."

"I'm sure you do. So, I guess what I'm trying to get at is this: do you think you can set me up with your mother?"

"What?"

"Wait… that was a poor way of phrasing that."

"Yes, it was."

"Would you be able to set it up so that your mother and I could spend some time together and talk?" Lydie asked, her voice full of hope.

Charlotte pushed a mass of curls over her shoulder and tilted her head to the left. "You want to spend time with my mother… okay… I suppose that's not too abnormal, but… why?"

"My mother is a stone-cold bitch. Ever since she came back from Korea, she's been absolutely dreadful, and I hate her. But your mom, she seemed like she was the mother I was supposed to have."

Charlotte was quiet. The look on her face worried Lydie; she knew that she was so close to getting what she desperately wanted, and Charlotte was her best bet at getting it. One false step, and it was all for not. "Lydie… we have never spoken to each other before in our lives. I mean… since starting high school, everyone at school knows you, and you're extremely popular, and I'm not, so it's really suspicious that you suddenly come out of the woodwork with a request like this. I don't mean to be a bitch, but I've never had a good outcome from situations like this. I have a history of people using me to get at my mom, and the situation never ends well. So, for the sake of my sanity and so I don't hate you in the future, I'm going to have to say no."

"But Charlotte…" Lydie gasped.

"I'm sorry. Really, I am."

"Charlotte, I don't think you understand…"

"I probably don't, but I understand what it feels like to be used and the humiliation that comes from that. I don't want to go through that again. I'm sorry. Really, really, really sorry."

Charlotte walked away from Lydie, towards the nearest subway station, leaving Lydie standing alone in front of the school. She had screwed this up, and she now had absolutely no idea what to do from this point forward.


End file.
